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I found myself with some extra time today. I didn’t really like going for walks, but I convinced myself I don’t have anything better to do. Besides, I’ve been working hard and should relax. It was mid-afternoon and the weather was perfect, or at least how I like it. The temperature was warm, with a very high, thin layer of cloud cover that diffused the bright sunlight.

I came upon a park. It was a large grass field with a circular path around it and people from all walks of life. This park just so happened to sit on the top of a large hill. It was called “Reservoir Park,” probably because of the giant water tank fixed maybe 50 feet above the ground, giving life to thousands of houses below.

I started walking counter-clockwise around the park and noticed a familiar looking view. I’d never seen this particular view before, but I recognized it because it looked out over where I grew up. I stopped and stared out at the hill I grew up on. I used to venture into the woods and climb up a tree high enough so I could stare out into the future, unknowingly looking out to where I was standing today, into a mirror with no reflection. I tried to think about everything that’s happened between then and now, all the success, all the heartbreak, everything that’s gotten me to this point so far and changed me from who I was into who I am, but I couldn’t. Nothing came to mind.

From the outside I’d assume that this would be great cause for concern, or should at least worry me in some sense, but I wasn’t even aware that nothing came to mind (funny how minds work). I wasn’t void of memories, but I was remembering, only instead of thoughts coming to mind it was purely feelings coming to heart; the joy, the pain, the love, the longing. I stayed in that moment for quite some time, and after I began to continue my walk I realized I indeed have grown since a child staring out from the tree tops. Never once growing up did I assume I would end up so close to my original home (at least so far). I always had some lofty goal that I would be extremely successful in whatever I did and move far away to somewhere better, some mystical land, wherever that was. But that was before I came out of the woods and went out to live my life. It’s easy to dream when everything looks so open.

Possibly the most important growth that I have experienced is an emotional one. It may seem super simple for some, but I have always been a logical person, using reasoning, knowledge, and whatever else I could prove or validate in order to come to any conclusion. ‘Emotions’ have not been easy for me. I’d get happy and sad like everyone else, but I never got too attached to anything, and would never say, “I’ve got a feeling about this…” Emotions have more or less been a reaction or side effect, so for me a purely emotional response to something is quite amazing, awakening, and somewhat of a miracle. If I can simply look at a view and feel such a wide range and depth of emotions, then that’s amazing. What good are thoughts and circumstances if we don’t feel anything? Every time I asked myself “what do I want to do with my life?” I’ll come up with an answer, and then ask myself, “why?” I’ll do that a few times and it always boils down to something along the lines of “I want to feel happy, feel good, feel loved,” and a big part of that is making others feel loved as well.

I completed my circular walk and looked back across the park to where I stood saw the view, and I couldn’t see it anymore from where I was standing. The trees hid the view from the street, and I noticed if I hadn’t first chosen, logically, to go on this walk, then I would not have ever seen that view, that narrow window into the past. Of course it’s easy to see now, but how many other opportunities like this have I missed? In how many other ways am I still looking out from the trees, waiting to see a reflection?

Sometimes funny people are also the most serious people, but they just hide it by being funny, so when they try to be serious everyone just laughs… I still can’t quite figure out if they laugh because it’s funny, or it’s funny because they laugh.

Ok, but do they actually say “no,” or are they just sliding out of it and not claiming responsibility for saying no, or are they just giving themselves an opportunity to be at a safe distance first?

Huh.

You can’t really tell someone “no” and not disappoint them, it’s just whether or not you respect them, and yourself, enough to tell them “no” without any window dressing. Saying anything else that hints at “no” is just delaying the inevitable. Sure, they’ll be disappointed, but you are saying “don’t be disappointed now; wait until I’m gone.” And that’s how relationships are ruined, because then you give yourself distance between you and that person, knowing that the farther away from them, the more comfortable you feel. But what you didn’t realize is that the closer you are to them, the more uncomfortable you feel, so when you think about connecting with them again you start to feel uncomfortable, and when, or even if, you are around them again it just feels weird. All because you couldn’t just say no in the first place. I’m not just talking romantic relationships either; any relationship where two people are involved. And what you didn’t realize is that you now have taught yourself the closer you are to that person, the more uncomfortable you feel.

I kind of get it. I mean, I’ve always gotten that concept, but for some reason I just keep falling in the same trap. Like, it doesn’t matter that I know junk food is bad for me; I keep eating it.

you treat other people the way that you want to be treated. You don’t want to hurt them, but you have to think about the long term. That’s what makes a good leader; for others to follow, and for yourself to follow. How would you like it if someone led you on and dragged you down a rocky path before finally letting go?

I hate it.

Okay… Well you need to see that. It takes bravery and courage to tell someone “no,” and to know that you most likely will disappoint them in the short term, but it is, without a doubt, better in the long run. It always is.

A black bird, which looked like a crow, was gliding alone through the sky. Gliding? This caught my eye. I blocked the sun with my hand and watched it. It then suddenly tucked its wings in and rolled onto its back, its pointed beak leading the way as it began to dive down. Suddenly it unraveled its wings and effortlessly rolled back upright, catching its fall, and continuing to glide repeating this maneuver several time as it cascaded across the sky, flipping itself around with nothing but what can only be described of as joy. I’ve never seen a crow have fun before, or any animal for that matter entertain itself while so isolated and unprovoked.

You come home to a house you’ve kept clean for a week solid after spring cleaning, but today you are tired. You drop your stuff on the floor and go to the kitchen to grab some snacks. You’ve worked hard this week. You decide you deserve a treat. You can’t remember the last time you had a milkshake. You scoop out the ice cream, Oreos, chocolate syrup, and some more ice cream, and hold the “blend” button. The blender decides that now is a good time to commit suicide and grind its gears, and not your milkshake, until you hear a pop and see a little wisp of smoke trail away from your newly departed appliance. You now understand the phrase ‘giving up the ghost,’ but you still don’t have a milkshake. You find yourself on the couch minutes later with a long spoon and the top half of the blender in your hand, scraping out the last bites of your milkstir, and realizing that the top half of the blender actually isn’t a bad way to eat a snack. It even has a handle and a spout. Over the next few weeks you keep using the top half of the blender to eat while the bottom half still sits plugged in on your counter top. No, it still doesn’t work. And now you’ve gotten used to it being there that it has just become part of the kitchen counter; a fixture, a statue, a memorial even. A few months later you invite friends over and one of them gets really drunk and asks you why you couldn’t just make margaritas from scratch when the blender is sitting right there. You tell him, “oh, it doesn’t work.” Like it’s supposed to not work. And he just stares at you for a little while because he’s obviously drunk, and nothing is wrong with you, or the blender.